I went to see my parents for a few days and life happened. I ended up in hospital, then hung around parents' because they were basically panicking that I'm oh-so-sick. All I needed were three days of sleep. Meantime, plague struck and said parents got paranoiac about me catching it. Of all people. Not my dad who has chronic bronchitis, smokes three packs a day and is a social.
It took me some time and cunning to implant the idea in their brains that I'll be fine at home so on Thursday, dad drove me there. Mom insisted that I take the whole fridge and half of the larder so that I don't starve, I had a few things that I had moved to parents' from Thomas' which belong to my place so I appreciated the lift.
But, remember, I have three cats. A friend graciously came to feed them and to water the plants but the place... well. And I had been pretty unwell for several weeks before I left so the usual storage method was first available surface. In other words, the place was a godawful mess.
I sighed and vacuumed a path through cat hair, dust and grains of litter and an occasional dried-on puddle of cat puke to open the windows.
It's Sunday. After about 16 rounds of vacuuming, there are no fluffs of cat hair floating from nowhere. I mopped the hallway - the stain cleaner rocks, it makes the puke peel off in one piece - and adjacent stains, took out the recyclables, did a bit of laundry and dusting and now, my place is not an exhibit of small carnivores but... let's be frank, my place is to neat what People of Walmart is to high fashion but at least it's livable. Three inquisitive pairs of eyes were watching me why I'm disturbing their circles and not unfrequently, one of the felines got in the way. Obviously.
Now, something got done, I'm making a bit of lunch, three puddles of cat fur landed in quiet places to have the 17th nap of the day and I can get back to work.
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